


Untruths

by elisetales



Category: Starfighter (Comic)
Genre: Awkwardness, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, OOC, i'm rusty ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-26
Updated: 2014-10-26
Packaged: 2018-02-22 17:21:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2515694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elisetales/pseuds/elisetales
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Abel asks Cain for the truth. What he gets is a kiss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untruths

**Author's Note:**

> this is literally the most boring shittiest thing ever, but posting up here because i haven't written anything Starfighter in forever and i felt like sharing my poo. this is just a tiny writing exercise from Abel's POV, which i never write (it shows), about lying liars who lie and their boyfriends who are fed up.

It felt like hours Abel sat with his fingers curled around a hot cup of coffee; black, one sugar, the way he and Cain both liked it. He'd fetched one for the both of them from the machine out in the corridor, left Cain's sitting by the bed on his side of the room. It had probably gone cold, Abel thought, but when he glanced up at the comm, only four minutes had passed. Cain would be back any moment now.

If it was possible to walk like a liar, Abel thought, then that's exactly how Cain entered their room. He sashayed past and threw his jacket on the bed, same way he did every day, and yet Abel could have sworn there was guilt in the way he hunched his shoulders, the way he threw off his boots, the tone with which he said, "Hey."

Abel didn't waste time getting to the point. It had been on his mind all day, making him feel sick the longer he thought about it, and he needed to hear it from Cain's own mouth, even if he thought he knew the truth already.

And so he asked, and the look on Cain's face was telling. He wasn't impenetrable; not half as good a liar as he probably fancied himself, and his insouciance faltered as he chewed on the question.

"Did you?" Abel repeated.

A muscle twitched in Cain's jaw. "No."

Abel let out a short laugh. "Why can't you just tell the truth?" It wasn't funny, any of it, and yet Abel couldn't contain a laugh, albeit a bitter one, at being presented with such a baldfaced lie. It wasn't necessary — Abel knew Cain had probably said a variety of things about him that he didn't mean; it didn't have to change things between them — and yet Cain was incapable of being honest with him, even about the small things. Given that, Abel wasn't sure how it was ever going to work outside of here, outside of _this_ , if Cain couldn't even respect him enough to give him the truth.

"Fine," Cain said with a careless shrug, as if spurred on by Abel's thoughts. "I said it. That's the truth. You happy?"

It was different, hearing it like that. Anger, hot and sick, washed over Abel, and he couldn't sit anymore. His fingers pressed into the walls of the flimsy paper cup so hard that liquid overflowed onto his knuckles, hot and stinging, sure to leave angry red marks later. He squared his shoulders and took a breath, reminded himself not to let his temper get out of hand. It wasn't seemly; he heard his father's voice in his mind then, imparting that tempers always said more about you than they did anyone else. And besides, if he didn't calm down he'd only drop his coffee. It was hot; it would make a mess and Abel would have to clean it up.

"You're awful, Cain," he muttered finally, turning away from him and setting the cup down on the little table, dabbing at his burned hand with an old towel.

"What?" Cain snorted. Abel stopped. "Why do you have to say things like that?" It was easier to tell Cain how he felt, tell him the truth, when he didn't have to look at him. "Why do you have to be like that? About me, I mean. I know you've got to keep up this facade, whatever it is, to fit in with _them_ , but you don't really think that about me." Doubt gnawed at the pit of Abel's stomach, horrible and unwelcome. "Do you?"

"No," Cain answered, but it sounded the same as the lie. Abel waited. "I don't know," Cain went on, evasive, his tone screaming that he'd rather be anywhere but in this room, under the microscope, having this conversation with Abel. "He's got a thing for you," Cain piped up, and it sounded like an accusation, maybe an excuse, as if Abel was the one he was really angry at. "He does. I said it for you— I thought maybe he'd fuck off and leave us alone if he thought you were just some-"

"Shut up, Cain," Abel snapped, before he could finish. He couldn't hear it anymore, Cain's nonsense; didn't have the energy to explain to him all the ways in which he was wrong, that he didn't make sense. He lowered himself onto the bed and winced as pain shot through his head, sharp like a knife's edge. He was exhausted; it had been too long a day already, and Keeler chewing him out, coupled with this, had zapped the majority of his strength, along with his patience.

"What is it?" The mattress dipped as Cain sat down beside him.

"Nothing," Abel muttered, leaning away and over his knees, pressing his fingertips to his eyes. Cain's arm was warm, too heavy, around his shoulders, but Abel didn't bat it away. He wanted to, but couldn't.

"You should take something for it. Painkillers or something. I could get you some, if you wanted."

"What do you care," Abel muttered, pressing so hard into his eyelids now that he was starting to see shapes, swirling colors, behind them. He let out a little groan. Cain didn't say anything.

"Look, just leave me alone," Abel begged, gearing up to throw Cain's arm off him — to get up and walk away, off somewhere he could be alone with his splitting headache — when he felt Cain's lips on his cheek, warm and dry.

Abel froze. He frowned when Cain kissed him again, the same way, erasing any possibility the aforementioned had been an accident. When he took his hands away from his eyes and opened them, it took a few seconds for Cain's face to come back into focus. When it did he was blushing, lip caught between his teeth and looking surly as ever.

And yet still, he lunged forward, and did it again.

"Cain?" Abel asked and leaned away, uncertain. His ears were ringing. Cain shook his head, made a face as if to say, " _I don't know, alright_?"

The silence was deafening. Abel sat with his hands on his knees, unsure what to do next. If he laughed it off he risked hurting Cain's feelings. If he reciprocated, let it devolve into something else, something that at least they both knew they were good at, it would only send the wrong message: that everything could be fixed with fucking, and that Abel didn't care enough to make sure Cain knew he was wrong, to let him _be_ wrong. 

"Do you want to—"

"No," Abel said quickly.

"Fine."

Abel was sure that was the end of it: Cain would be pissed, probably storm off, and nothing would be resolved. If he wanted something later he'd let Abel know about it, and Abel — if he knew himself — would probably give in to it, as he always did. Then, they'd be right back to square one. They'd never be anything other than what they were now. Abel wasn't sure how much longer that would be enough for him. 

"Abel." And then Cain's hand was on his lap, over his, the inside of his palm warm, dry and calloused. "I don't, alright? I don't think that; I never fucking thought that."

Abel looked down at his lap, at their hands, his own pale as milk under Cain's tanned skin. His head throbbed with pain again and he winced. "O-okay."

"Fine." The mattress shifted again and he was up, his arm gone from Abel's shoulders. "I'll be back." He tapped his fingers against Abel's forehead. "You need something, for this."

Abel watched the door hiss closed, and smiled against the pain. It wasn't perfect, but at least they weren't staying the same; things were changing, and that would have to be enough for now. 

 


End file.
